Venceremos, pero cuando ?
Bhaarat, Zhongguo, Nihon, Hanguk, Misr, Hayastan---these are the names of old countries, well-known throughout the world as ancient civilizations, but by different names, names bestowed by those who contacted them from Europe---India, China, Japan, Korea, Egypt, Armenia. But there are other countries, smaller and poorer, not so much in the world's eye, that also bear the names given by others, mostly conquerors---Ichkeria, Kollasuyo, Aotearoa, Quisqueya, Cuzcatlan. Do these ring a bell ? Usually not. Chechnya, Bolivia, New Zealand, the Dominican Republic, and El Salvador are what we know them as. And not only were these lands given new names, but their peoples were often conquered, pushed off their lands, exiled or even massacred. CUZCATLAN is a poem in prose, dedicated to the long-suffering people of "El Salvador", who were treated like cattle for centuries, butchered when they got in the way, fed on tortillas and salt---even beans were a luxury---with hardly any land, obliged to carry out feudal duties, no school, no health care, no rights, and no hope but to carry on. The book celebrates the beautiful land and its people; portrays the brutality of the ruling classes and the army/the guardia who enforced the rulers' will. The story follows a particular family through multiple generations, jumping back and forth in a rather confusing manner (not helped by the fact that several people have the same name) up to 1981, when the final incident takes place. Civil wars ultimately bring families face to face on opposite sides. What does justice dictate in such cases ?
While having every sympathy with the Cuzcatlan struggle for social justice and basic human rights, I would have to say that this novel is far from the best I have ever read. It reminded me of a mural by Rivera or Orozco, with heroic figures painted large and bright, surrounded by birds and flowers. The characters are very one-dimensional and the author's portrayal of them, not only repetitive but simple. You could read this because you want to know a local author's view of the tragedy of his country, but not because you are in search of great literature. Rather than a book by some gringo war correspondent, you could get a view from `the horse's mouth' so to speak, but it is full of platitudes, full of earnest but self-evident statements. Perhaps the translation could have been better---I don't know. I doubt if, even now, some 25 years after the end of the civil war, the poor people of Cuzcatlan have achieved what they dreamed of. Gangs have proliferated out of sight. By reading Argueta's novel, you may learn, at least, why they fought.